


Pawns are the Soul of Chess

by bending_sickle, seschat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bending_sickle/pseuds/bending_sickle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seschat/pseuds/seschat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Peter showed up in Gerard's basement when he was beating up Stiles. (Episode 2x12)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pawns are the Soul of Chess

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a quote by Francois-Andre Danican Philidor. (Original French: "Les pions sont l’âme des échecs.")

Gerard has Stiles on the ground, trying to punch out information and getting nothing but blood on his knuckles, when Peter shows up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you and wanted to keep my throat intact. And let me tell you, having your throat slashed open? Not fun.” 

Gerard looks up, still crouched over Stiles. To his credit he doesn’t glance around for reinforcements. “What do you want?” As if to say, _Kate’s dead; it’s my turn on the revenge train._

"I’m just here for the boy." 

Gerard glances down. “This one? He’s nothing. Just a pawn.” 

Peter gives a tight-lipped smile - “Always underestimating, Gerard. - and clenches a fist.

When Derek and Pack finally show up, Peter’s crouched on the ground, dabbing on a cut on Stiles’ forehead gently. Everyone rushes in like they’re the goddamn cavalry and Peter just rolls his eyes at the noise, how they’re practically shouting, “Stiles, we’re here to save you!” all shining armor and teeth. Instead they barely get to call out Stiles’ name as they burst into the living room before falling silent at the sight of the two of them. 

Peter barely glances up. “Derek, you just keep getting worse at being an alpha every,” he dabs at Stiles forehead, “damn,” another dab, “day.”

Stiles, meanwhile, is in a lot of pain but mainly more concerned with how he’s completely freaking out. He was pretty out of it after Gerard stopped punching him, and still unfocused once someone started wiping away something ticklish on his face, but now he’s got a face-full of Peter Hale.

Something presses against his forehead again and it feels like a punch, panic swelling in his chest because _what is going on why is Peter Hale touching me where am oh my God I am going to die._ He flinches away, just a tiny wince and a flutter of eyelids is all he can manage, and Peter tilts his head down at him. 

"Come now, Stiles, why would I have gone through all that trouble if I wanted to hurt you?"

And Stiles wonders briefly whatever happened to “that trouble”, imagines Gerard’s lifeless body lying somewhere beside him, red puddle on a red carpet, and his throat closes off entirely.

He can hear the other wolves - Derek is shouting something, Scott’s calling his name - and he’s terrified that Peter is going to go full on murderous on them. _Oh crap, what if Peter wants to kill Derek to be the alpha again?_

So Stiles does what Stiles does, which is roll his tongue around until it’s somewhat responsive and try to joke his way out of the situation. He might have said something about “what big teeth you have” before really getting his metaphorical feet under him, if Peter’s eyeroll is anything to go by, but then he does have Peter’s face _right there._

Stiles tries to squirm out of Peter’s hold then, but one raised eyebrow and a finger on his neck make him freeze. He hears Derek shouting, “Let him go!” and out from the corner of his eyes, Stiles can see Scott freaking out too, and he idly wonders what would happen if Scott killed Peter. Would that cure him? Even if Peter wasn’t an alpha anymore? 

But then Derek takes a step closer and the finger on Stiles’ neck presses in a little deeper, nail digging in this time, and he gets grounded back into place, realizing he’s trying to think of things other than being, basically, in Peter’s lap. In the Argent’s living room. Probably bleeding all over the goddamn carpet. He feels a bubble of laughter rising in his chest. 

He feels Peter’s voice rumbling up his chest before the words even come out. “I just got him back. Why would I let him go?”

And Stiles can’t help it, he groans embarrassment, brain finally switching back on, and he just knows that the whole “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you that Peter offered me the bite,” conversation is coming and _can we not do it when he’s petting my face?_ But he’s too tired to say much anyway and even he can’t gather up the courage to break the sudden deafening silence that’s blanketed the room.

Slowly, Derek says, “…you’ve claimed him?”

And Stiles knows Peter smiles at that because suddenly his vision is full of bright sharp teeth.

"I tried. Stubborn little thing, though."

This time Stiles _can_ move, enough to turn his face away from everyone, biting the insides of his cheeks. He had his doubts before, was tempted - of course he was. Peter called him out on that lie, after all. But now? He _doesn’t_ want to be a werewolf. Sure he wants to _help_ , wants to maybe not almost _die_ every other day, wants to never have to watch helpless from ground level as someone he cares about gets hurt, wants to stop being the goddamn _pawn_ … 

And now Stiles doesn’t know what he wants so he just turns his head further and closes his eyes and tries to ignore everything inside his head and everything else around him, psychotic werewolf hands on him and all.

Not that he’s a little bit bitter that his bruises take weeks to heal instead of minutes, if he were a werewolf. Every part of him aches right now and he just got beat up by a _grandpa_ and he could totally use some of that healing power right now. Speaking of, would his ADHD go away? Like Scott’s asthma?

He takes a breath, trying to imagine the transition between asthma to asthma-free when he gets a nosefull of men’s deoderant and _oh right werewolf situation here, Stiles, focus_. Except he can’t, because he’s just realized that he’s hid his face in Peter’s shoulder. Alarms start ringing in his head - _not good! not good!_ \- because this cannot look good from over there, where his furry friends are. Hell, it barely looks good from over here, inside Stiles’ head, but he couldn’t stand up right now even if Peter were to let him go which _not happening_ , apparently.

Then Stiles realizes that if Peter doesn’t let him go, then the werewolf can’t fight Derek. He doesn’t know if that means he’s being used as a human shield or…what? Stiles the Meat Puppet sounds about right, he decides with a powerless sigh.

But then Peter’s moving and Stiles panics - _what’s happening?_ \- then blushes, face red and burning - _is he copping a feel?_ \- until he realizes he’s being picked up like…like…like some _damsel_ and that’s just Stiles the Pawn Meat Puppet all over again except -

His body remembers before his mind does. It’s like when Dad would carry him to bed as a boy, all warm and safe and high up in the air where nothing could get at him, and so he can’t help relaxing into the grip of Peter’s arms as he’s lifted off the ground. It’s a good feeling and everything hurts just a little bit less.

Stiles hears growls coming from the other side of the room, Scott, probably - and since when does Stiles recognize Scott’s _growl?_ \- but then Peter straightens and rearranges him in his arms - which _ow_ , Stiles thinks maybe he’s got something sprained or broken even. _Grandpa sure can pack a punch._

Scott’s growl breaks into words like the sea crashing onto rocks. “Let him go!”

"Shut up, Scott," snaps Derek, his voice strained, like he’s trying to hold onto one tiny part of the world while the rest flies off it’s axis. From his vantage point, Stiles sees Derek grip Scott’s shoulder, grounding him, and as Scott throws confused glances at Derek, Peter, and finally Stiles, the word _hostage_ whispers in Stiles’ head.

Except there’s something in the way Derek is backing down, how he’s keeping Scott by his side, that makes Stiles think that maybe Derek trusts Peter’s actions more than he does Scott’s right now.

Another word flits through his head. _Claimed._

And then, because he’s hurting and tired and has been beaten up six ways from Sunday and his body seems to think it’s four years old and on it’s way to an airplane-decorated duvet, Stiles says, “Is my dad okay?”


End file.
